Free The Lubetkin Legacy by Marina Lewycka

her cage.
    ‘Aaargh!’ Inna let out a shriek and crossed herself. ‘Is voice of devil! Mr Indunky Smeet!’
    ‘It’s just a parrot, Inna. Don’t be afraid. Come on in and say hello. See, she’s in a cage.’
    ‘Lily tell me he stealing her flat!’
    Inna advanced cautiously into the room, looking around her, sniffing the air. I sniffed too. Flossie’s cage urgently needed cleaning.
    ‘Hello, Mister Indunky Smeet,’ Inna said. ‘Devil-bird.’
    ‘Shut up, Flossie!’
    Inna looked nonplussed. ‘I am not Floozie.’
    ‘No, it’s her name. Flossie.’
    ‘Not Floozie!’ chimed Flossie.
    ‘He talk wit himself?’
    ‘It’s a girl. Female. Flossie.’
    ‘Is not girl, is bird.’
    ‘Forget it.’ I sighed. ‘Here, Inna – here’s your room. Make yourself at home.’
    I pushed open the door of Mother’s room, taking in a poignant breath of the heavy powdery air that still carried the smell of her, maybe for the last time. Inna had a different unfamiliar smell, soapy and faintly spicy. She followed behind me, as I set down her bags in front of the ornate walnut dressing table, and sat down on the stool staring at her reflection in the mirror. She took out the pins holding her silver plaits in place, and flicked her head to let them fall. Then she worked the plaits loose with her fingers until her hair cascaded like a sheet of crinkled silver on to her shoulders.
    ‘Oy, I am too old.’
    I shook my head but couldn’t bring myself to deny it. ‘Would you like something to eat? You must be hungry.’
    She didn’t reply so I brought her a tuna and lettuce sandwich and a cup of tea. She made no move to help, but sat on the stool looking around her.
    ‘I’ll leave you to make yourself at home. Let me know if you need anything.’
    I closed the door of her room with relief. Feeling somewhat agitated, I went and hunted in the larder, the hall wardrobe and the back of the meter-cupboard to see whether Mum had a spare bottle of sherry secretly stashed away, but I drew a blank. I did, however, find an ancient ten-pack of Players No. 6 wrapped in a tea towel.
    Next morning I was woken by Flossie’s voice – not her usual repertoire of greetings, she seemed to be squawking randomly. I went into the sitting room to investigate, and there was Inna,
looking more ladylike than crone-like in a pale silky blouse and pleated black skirt; her diamanté-framed glasses sat square on her nose, and her long plaits were neatly coiled up behind her ears, on which two of Mother’s clip-on earrings glistened. She was trying to teach the bird to sing a folk song –
‘povee veetre’
she wailed – rewarding her with pieces of toast.
    ‘Aha! Good morning, Mister Bertie! I mekkit toast. Coffee still hot. But first we drink vodka for good luck.’ There was a small bottle of vodka on the table, and two glasses. ‘
Na zdorovye!
’ She tipped back a glass. ‘Lack nothing! Be merry!’ I tipped back the other, and we both laughed.
    ‘This Mister Indunky Smeet is not too intelligent. He not understand nothing.’ She put her face up to the cage. ‘Nuh, say “Hello, Inna”.’
    The bird wailed, ‘
Povee! Vee!
’ Then she hopped about on her perch and reverted to her usual repertoire. ‘Say hello, Flinna! First of March, 1932!’
    We both laughed again. This arrangement isn’t going to be so bad, I thought. It’s nice to have someone cheerful in the flat. It’ll stop me getting on to that downhill spiral. At least until I get through this gloomy phase and square things with Mrs Penny. After that, Inna could go home – wherever that was. I realised how little I knew about her and her life before I met her in the hospital, but I guessed we would have time enough to find out.
    The hospital had phoned to apologise for the delay in the autopsy, which was due to staff shortages, they said. I felt that until the funeral and mourning period were over I couldn’t really move on in my life. But the parrot lesson had given me an